


Of Choice

by kesomon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, so much hugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesomon/pseuds/kesomon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choice is something the universe has kept from Bucky, for far too long. He needs Steve to understand this one.</p><p>A CACW End-Credits Introspection</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the mid-credits of CACW. I felt so much empathy for Bucky in that moment. The exhaustion of life, the peace on his face. This is not a fix-it. This is an acceptance of canon.
> 
> Also forever bitter that the last on-screen hug we got between them was in 1943.

_Choice_ , is something the universe has kept from him, time and again. His country drafted him into a war with no good ends. Hydra took his body, dug in and left something there to gnaw at his insides. The Russians took his mind and played, cauterizing his thoughts with fire until there was only _готовы соблюдать_.

He claws his way back. Each step forward feels accompanied by two steps in reverse, but it’s still progress. Slowly, he re-learns what it means to be Human.

Then Zemo happens, and choice is ripped from him again. He remembers it all. Can’t stop screaming, beating the cage in his mind as his body tears through friend and foe alike.

He wonders if he’ll ever be free.

And then he is here. Here is Wakanda, lush trees and warm mist in harmony with great opalescent cities, the people kind and empathetic. It is...almost overwhelming.

Of it all, the acceptance of the King is the most dichotomous. Not 48 hours ago, they were at odds. Now, King T’Challa welcomes him, gives him sanctuary, tends his wounds. Offers him _choice_.

“We have the technology to do many things, and I owe you a debt, Sergeant Barnes,” His Majesty says, almost gently. “What do you wish to do?”

Bucky Barnes has autonomy, for what feels like the first time in his life.

He considers. He weighs his options, calculates pros and cons. He spends an entire twenty-four hours sitting in contemplation, staring out at the too-green jungle beyond the glass. It’s a heady feeling, and he feels intoxicated by the freedom.

Yet, in the end, the decision is simple.

“I can’t trust my own mind.” Beside him, a quiet inhale, defiant and familiar. He turns his head, stops the protests before they can begin. Stares into Steve’s eyes, unwavering. Needs him to _understand_. “It’s my choice, Steve.”

Resolve breaks. Buck turns his eyes away, to the chamber, sleek and clean like the old chambers had never been. If he sees disappointment in his friend’s eyes, he may falter, and he wants this. This is him being selfish; he’s tired, so tired. This is a chance to rest, to recuperate. To find the quiet he needs to heal.

Beside him, Steve breathes, lifts a hand to scrub over his eyes.

“Yeah, alright Buck. It’s your choice.” He shifts, fidgets, and then extends an arm, beckoning Bucky in with a quiet murmur. “Hey, c’mere.”

There is a hitch in Steve’s voice, a knife-edge of sorrow. Bucky comes. Folds himself forward, gathered against the expanse of Steve’s chest, his arm circling under to clutch at Steve’s jacket. He breathes, filling his senses with the clean scent of soap and Steve, his friend’s heartbeat thundering in his ear.

Bucky pretends he can’t feel the damp soaking into the white cotton scrub-top over his good shoulder, ignores the shudder of Steve’s shoulders as Buck strokes soothing lines down the other’s back. Pays no attention to the moisture in his own eyes. Making this decision, it fills him with something warm, something undefinable that loosens the tension in his chest. It feels right, to choose for himself what he wants to do.

The hug can’t last forever, and Bucky aches for it as they part. But Steve doesn’t leave. He settles against the edge of the cot, his shoulder brushing Bucky’s good side. Stares at the glass of the cryo case, worrying his lip in trepidation and...something else. Longing, perhaps. His eyes are rimmed red, dark shadows smudging pale skin.

Steve is tired too, Bucky realizes. Maybe with Buck safe, here, he can find rest as well.

“They probably have two,” Bucky offers. Steve startles, stares at him in surprise. Hesitates, and Buck can see the wheels turning as his oldest friend too considers the option.

After a minute, Steve sighs, smiling wetly.

“No thanks,” he shakes his head. “I slept long enough the first time. Besides...” He nudges Buck lightly. “You spent...how long, of our lives, watching my back?” Decades, Bucky’s memory supplies, but does not voice. Steve continues, shoulders square, never outgrown of that stubborn streak. “It’s my turn to protect you. I couldn’t do that before, but now...”

Now is Steve, steadfast and strong beside Bucky, anchoring him in warmth and presence. Arms circle his shoulders, mindful of his injuries, drawing Buck back into protection and comfort.

“Take as long as you need, Buck. I’ll stand watch.”

Buck would fight him on it. But he’s tired. He leans, soaking in that warmth as if could follow him into the ice. It is Steve’s turn to suffer a dampened shirt. They stay that way until the medical staff returns.

It’s time.

There are no hands to hold him down. No pain to make him compliant. The facility is clean and fresh, glass tempered with vibranium, allowing maximum security. Through the windows, the jungle is serene and still.

He lays his head back, the padding of the cryo chamber more comfort than he’s had in almost a century. Feels the cold creep in, frosting the glass around him. He closes his eyes. It’s just like falling asleep.

When at last the cold settles, drawing him deep into hibernation, he finds something else denied to him, far too long.

In sleep, he finds peace.


End file.
